1st Half.

Tuesday begins with Sarah nudging me. “Coffee.” she says. The aroma lures me from slumber and I prop myself on one elbow to take a sip. I hear Sarah say something about Bethany wanting a picture of my passport.

The caffeine hasn’t yet worked its magic. “What? Why?” 

“For booking flights.”

“I’ll send it later.” I grumble, slipping back towards sleep.

“Already sent it. She needed it.” Sarah tells me. “You’ve got flights out.”

That gets my attention. “Flights? To Switzerland?”

Sarah nods in confirmation.

I’m not quick on the uptake at the best of times, let alone when I’m coming back from dreamland and stuck at customs. I grab my phone from the nightstand. The display begins with a zero and a seven.

 “Already? It’s not even eight.” 

“Flight prices went crazy last night. They checked again this morning and they were down to £75 from Manchester. So they booked before they went back up. You fly into Zurich on the 9^th.”

Just then a picture lands in the family message group. It’s from Liam; a screenshot of the booking. We’re on the 0850 from Terminal 2. It’s a two hour flight and lands in Geneva at 1150. That’s three hours after we take-off, but only a two hour flight? I take a mouthful of coffee as I ponder this conundrum. As the cup empties and my brain clears customs and engages fully, the answer comes to me. 1150 local time.

Sarah has to be somewhere and is soon out of the door. Me, though, I’ve got a free day. In fact, apart from helping a friend build a Fussball table on Wednesday and an outing to a show with Bethany on Thursday, I have a free week. I’ve finished for the holidays!

In preparation for the Dad/Daughter-No1 date in Manchester, I decide to get a haircut and beard trim. Try and make myself look a little more presentable, I think. This will be my first “proper” cut at a barber shop since pre-pandemic. I know! Sarah started cutting my hair when the world stopped being normal. To be fair, she does an extremely good job. So much so that chaps have even been impressed enough to ask who cuts it. I tell them, I have a legally qualified woman who does it. We have two pairs of Wahl clippers in our house; a corded set that is quite heavy and whose blades could do with sharpening, and a lighter, rechargeable, cordless pair that we got for trimming the mutts. It is these clippers that Sarah uses on my hair.

I search for local barbers. “I wouldn’t let anyone else touch my beard.” This review grabs my attention and I think, Dougie’s the chap for me. Selecting which of my hats to wear for today’s excursion I set out for the short walk to the lair of this beard taming guru. He’s a nice chap, is Dougie. Does a good job and I’m pleased. After some manly banter, the type of which can only pass between two men who have never previously met and one of whom is wielding a cutthroat razor, I head home with a spring in my step.

I check the group messages on the walk back. Liam has sent another picture. Oh my! He’s now got flights home! Geneva to Manchester on the Saturday. I adjust my hat to a jaunty angle atop my freshly styled bonce and grin like a child on Christmas Day. A haircut, some free time ahead and recently securing Euro25 tickets tends to make you smile.

I arrive home to discover one of the mutts has crapped on the tiled kitchen floor. Even this pungent poochy parcel cannot dispel my buoyant mood.

2nd Half.

After attending to the pile left by Luna – it’s always Luna – the house again smells Christmassy and not of stinky dog. I make a coffee, set the lights on the tree twinkling and sit down to read my book. I let Luna sit with me, she likes to snuggle….among other things.

I can’t concentrate on reading as Luna decides to wriggle about and be a pest. I set my book aside, let her out into the garden and load up the UEFA app while she potters around outside. I see further tickets have been released and I quickly look if the other England games are available. They aren’t. And the Lioness fixture we have tickets for is now a total sell out. I open our family messages to double check the dates of our games. Liam and I have tickets for the 9^th and the 11^th and we fly back on the 12^th. According to app, Switzerland play on the day between our games.

I phone Liam. It rings out and, as I redial, he calls me.

“What we planning for the middle day? The Thursday?” I ask.

”We’ll try to fit another game in if we can. Have to see when they put tickets up.”

“Tickets up now.” I say. “D’ya fancy a Switzerland match? I bet the atmosphere for the hosts would be brilliant.”

“Sounds excellent.” Liam responds. “I’ll log on ASAP and get them if they are still there.”

“I’m on the app now, I can do it.” I confidently tell Liam, completely forgetting about the trauma last night’s ticket buying escapade induced. “Some knock-out games and the semis are available too.” I add, a question hidden in there.

“Can’t.” Liam tells me. “I can only get those days between shifts. And I’ll probably have to take some leave to make it work.”

“Oh! S’right.” We hang up. I curse Liam for not having the freedom of the self-employed. But, I suppose, that would be a lot of fires and cats-in-trees for one person alone to handle.

Now, while buying Lioness tickets last night was a panic-stricken affair, I breeze through purchasing two tickets for Finland v Switzerland without any concerns. The whole thing takes but a few minutes and the process is an absolute doddle. Like taking candy canes from an elf. I suppose, although it would be nice to watch the hosts, that game wasn’t a must see for me and so, no pressure. An England game was an absolute must and I simply had to get tickets. Hence the stress I felt yesterday.

Having never followed England abroad before – and never wishing to do so with the men’s team – my dream of watching The Lionesses at Euro25 was birthed on July 31^st 2022. The intervening two-and-a-half years had only seen it grow exponentially into something approaching pilgrimage status.

I’m not getting any younger, sixty isn’t that far away. This tournament will likely be my one opportunity to undertake a trip like this. That’s another reason I so desperately want to have this adventure. And, sharing the adventure with Liam, will make it super special. Knowing that one day, when Emilia is older and I’m not here, Liam will tell her of Dadda and GrumpPa’s journey through the Swiss countryside to watch The Lionesses play.

I’ve never seen myself as a pilgrim. But, come July, I will be.